


Something Red, Something Gold

by christabellamotte



Series: There's a Science to Walking Through Windows [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christabellamotte/pseuds/christabellamotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autumn, 1979.<br/>The wedding, everyone agreed, was perfect.<br/>That is, everyone except one Sirius Black, best man, currently intoxicated in the happy couple’s spare bathroom, lying in the bathtub, tie undone and shirt half-unbuttoned – Lily had insisted on muggle suits — feet resting on the spigot, cigarette in one hand and bottle of wine in the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Red, Something Gold

_Autumn, 1979._

 

            The wedding, everyone agreed, was perfect.

            That is, everyone except one Sirius Black, best man, currently intoxicated in the happy couple’s spare bathroom, lying in the bathtub, tie undone and shirt half-unbuttoned – Lily had insisted on muggle suits — feet resting on the spigot, cigarette in one hand and bottle of wine in the other.

 

            Remus had expected to find Godric’s Hollow in disarray when he arrived (via the back gate, having apparated a mile or so away and walked – you never can be too careful in these times) but this was something else. James had attempted to charm his hair flat and only succeeded in getting it to stand on end, making him look like an electrocuted hedgehog. Lily and Petunia had already had two screaming matches about “that awful Potter boy” and “these freaks,” the second of which had led to Lily hitting her sister with a truly spectacular bat-bogey hex and locking herself in the bedroom, refusing to cast a counter-charm until Petunia apologised. Sirius had poured firewhiskey in his coffee before leaving the flat that morning and was, somewhat predictably, lounging shirtless in the garden, tumbler in hand. No-one had seen hide nor hair of Peter since the stag night a couple of days earlier, and even then he’d left early the next morning before anyone else had woken up. James had tried to floo later that day, but to no avail. Still, Remus reasoned to himself, taking stock of the chaos before him, at least there were four hours before the guests started arriving.

 

            Just at that moment, the doorbell rang.

            “Sorry, I know we’re early, but we were just so excited we couldn’t wait!” Mr. and Mrs. Potter bustled in the door of their former summer home in their wedding finery: dress robes for Mr. Potter and a dress for Mrs. Potter, who had been dragged into the sartorial politics of muggle weddings, only partially against her will.

            “Umm,” Remus held the door back, trying to hide the chaos inside, “perhaps it would be better if you waited in the garden? Things are a little —“

            “Wotcher Mum, Dad,” Sirius waltzed past Remus, handing him his glass as he swept the Potters into an affectionate hug.

            “Sirius, shouldn’t you be dressed by now?” Mrs Potter asked, looking her adoptive son up and down with concern. “You are the best man, you know.” Sirius ran a hand through his hair, cropped short for the occasion at Lily’s insistence, and for a split second Remus thought he could have been James. They all did it more than they would admit - just another of the mannerisms that had bled into their hive mind from years of each other’s constant company.

            “Padfoot, why don’t you show the Potters the garden?” Remus gestured towards the back garden where the wedding was to take place, desperately hoping to avoid other members of the wedding party en route. Sirius blossomed into respectful host and dutiful son almost immediately and it wasn’t until the back door had clicked shut behind them that Remus realised he was still holding the half-filled glass. Shrugging, he drained it and headed for the kitchen to see what could be salvaged. It was going to be a long day.

 

            Three and a half hours later James’ hair had been slicked down with a truly impressive amount of Sleakeasy’s, Lily and Petunia had reached a sullen truce which Remus hoped would at least outlast the ceremony, and Peter had shown up with the food and most of the Order who were now lounging around the garden with finally-dressed Sirius. Remus was pouring drinks and taking photos with the charmed camera someone had given him.

 

            Then came the ceremony, which Dumbledore, periwinkle eyes twinkling, presided over. When the happy couple finally kissed, everyone cheered and no-one said that they were too young or that it was too dangerous or that they weren’t ready. When they gathered around the long trestle table someone had summoned, plates piled high with food, everyone toasted long and happy lives and no-one mentioned that the chance they’d make it out alive was less than Peter taking home Marlene MacKinnon, whom no-one had the heart to tell him wasn’t interested in men. Sirius gave the speech everyone expected, and didn’t mention the war, or the lying, or that there was a spy, or Remus, and laughed too loudly at his own jokes. Only Remus noticed how tightly he was gripping his glass as he finally raised it skyward “to Mr and Mrs Evans” and was promptly punched good-naturedly by James.

 

            After the speeches came the dancing, and after his obligatory dance with Lily, Sirius disappeared. Remus stayed for a while, dancing courteously with the few members of the Order who asked, and Mrs Potter, who insisted, before moving to a table closer to the house to observe the merrymaking with the Prewetts, who were taking bets on Peter’s chances of picking up and commentating the other guests. It was easier there, somehow, where he didn’t have to pretend. Fab and Gid didn’t know, of course, but they would understand. And for Remus, that was enough. When Molly dumped the twins onto them so she could dance with Arthur, Remus handed over the camera and went to find Sirius. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

 

            Which is how Remus came to find the disowned heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black lounging in the Potters second-best bathroom looking, by all accounts, a hot mess.

            “Can I come in please Pads?” he asked from the doorway, looking at his feet. Sirius took another swig from the bottle in response. Remus came in anyway, balancing himself gingerly on the side of the tub. Sirius held out the bottle of wine and Remus took it, drinking deeply. Sometimes it was easier not to think. They sat like that for a while, passing the bottle, and later, the fag, back and forth between them, in comfortable silence.

            “I reckon Molly’s pregnant again,” said Remus, finally. “Gid and Fab are taking odds on it, anyway.”

            “Molly, Alice, that Bones girl… It’ll be Lily any day now,” Sirius kicked at the cold tap moodily. “Alastor’d say it’s bloody irresponsible, bringing a child into this madness.”

            “Yeah, well, good thing he’s on watch tonight. I’ve already had to reverse one of Lily’s bat-bogey hexes today.” Sirius laughed, low and hollow. Remus didn’t mention that the Prophet had announced Narcissa’s pregnancy last month.

            “God, Petunia’s a right cow, isn’t she?” Remus hesitated for second then nodded, grimacing.

            “I always thought Lily was exaggerating. I can’t believe they didn’t kill each other as teenagers.”

            “In my family, they would have.” Sirius kicked the tap again and took a long drink from the bottle. They sat in silence again. Constantly in the pull of opposing forces, Sirius never did anything by halves. He would be silent, or he would talk for hours about anything and everything. He would rage wild and brilliant, white-hot with emotion, or he would sit for days in Remus’ favourite chair by the window, smoking and staring out through the grimy window into the grey of the street. He wavered from extreme to extreme without warning or logic. Remus had made his lifetime a study of Sirius’ moods but was no closer to deciphering a pattern in them.

            “I just don’t understand why they had to get married,” Sirius said, finally. “Everything was fine as it was. We were fine. So they want to live together - so what? They can do that without being married. Why did they have to change it?” He took a drag before stubbing out the cigarette on the edge of the bath with the others, a graveyard of the passing time. “Now Prongs is married and Peter’s never here and Reggie’s a fucking Death Eater and every time I go on patrol I have to wonder if I’m killing someone who’s eaten at my table and why should that even matter if they’re happy to torture us to death and nothing is the same and its all changing so fast and there’s a spy and Dumbledore thinks its—“ He cut himself off and looked ashamed. Then, lower, his voice almost a whisper, a confession: “He thinks its you, Moony.”

            “I know,” said Remus softly. “I know.”

            A pause. They each drank again.

            “We’re going to die, Moony.”

            “I know.”

            Silence. Remus lit another cigarette and let it dangle from his fingers, watching the ember burn its way up the tube, spark by spark.

            “Promise me something, Moony.”

            “Anything, Pads.”

            “Promise me—“ His voice caught, “Promise me you won’t let me be the last. Promise me you won’t let me outlive you all. I can’t be the last, Remus.” Remus watched spark burn its way up the cigarette. Just as it reached the point at which it would become unsmokeable, he took a drag and stubbed it out with his palm.

            “I promise.” Sirius handed him the bottle. “Wormy’ll outlive us all anyway. Bloody vermin.” They both laughed, and Remus, more than a little drunk, slipped off the side of the bath and onto Sirius.

            “Merlin’s balls!” Sirius spluttered as they struggled to right themselves, each grappling at the other’s suit and trying not to let go of the bottle. Eventually they found a relatively comfortable position, with Sirius leaning his head on Remus’ shoulder and tucking his arm behind his friend. Now most of the way through the bottle, Remus wondered how long they’d been in here.

           

 

          “I bailed after dancing with Lily,” Sirius muttered, as if Remus had phrased his question aloud, “she’s going to murder me if she finds out.” Remus shrugged.

            “I took a load of photos of you at the ceremony and during the toast. She’s too busy having fun to notice who is and isn’t there, and you’re covered in case she goes back to check.”

            “Thanks,” mumbled Sirius into Remus’ collar. They lay still for a moment.

            “Do you want to go back?” Remus asked cautiously. Sirius shook his head and shuffled a little closer, wrapping one leg around Remus’ hips. Remus took another swig from the bottle. He could feel Sirius’ erection against his thigh, and he was sure Sirius could feel his against his leg.

            “Fuck,” muttered Remus as Sirius moved again, this time to take the bottle. “Fuck, Padfoot…” They hadn’t had sex since the stag night, drunker than Remus had ever managed before, against the bathroom door in Twist and Timmerman’s, desperately hoping that no-one tried to come in. It had been hard, and rough, and fast, and only Peter had noticed that they’d been gone longer than was really necessary to take a drunken piss. Remus had felt his eyes boring into them, trying to decipher the secret he knew was there. Bloody Wormtail, always too perceptive for his own good. Sirius moved again and Remus grabbed the now-empty bottle off him, dropping it to the floor beside the bath, and leant into a kiss. It was deep, and rough, and wet, and Merlin, Sirius felt good. Even masked by wine and cigarette smoke there was still some taste deep beneath the surface, something warm and musky and somehow inherently Sirius. Remus let out a low moan as Sirius shifted on top of him, kissing him vigorously as they moved against each other. Remus moved his hands inside Sirius’ jacket and ran them down his sides until he reached his belt, which he unbuckled, chuckling slightly as Sirius moaned.

            “Good to know you still like my touch,” Remus teased, moving a hand inside Sirius’ shirt and rubbing the soft, warm skin at his stomach.

            “Fuck off,” Sirius mumbled into Remus’ mouth as he returned the favour, shifting Remus’ pants over his hips and thrusting against him. Erections touching, Remus’ breath caught and all of a sudden there was nothing else in the world but the warm, hard mess of boy next to him and the taste of Sirius and the smell of smoke and ash. Kissing his neck, Sirius undid Remus’ tie and unbuttoned his shirt. Groaning, Remus reached down, tracing his fingers along Sirius’ wiry body, still fit from quidditch, the bastard, and cupped him, stroking gently.

            “Fuck, Moony,” Sirius thrust into his hand excitedly, grinning like a dog with a sausage, which, Remus supposed, he was. Running his tongue down Remus’ chest, Sirius drew lazy circles with it around his cock as Remus whimpered and thrust harder. Still grinning, Sirius looked up to meet his eyes, then licked the length of his shaft, flicking his tongue across the tip. Remus groaned appreciatively and murmured something that may or may not have been a complete sentence. He grabbed a chunk of Sirius’ hair as the boy wrapped Remus’ cock with his mouth, sucking gently, then firmly, then gently again, teasing Remus who writhed underneath him, swearing, until, with a breath exhaled like air from a balloon:

            “Christ, Sirius, don’t stop, fuck, fuck,” and came into Sirius’ waiting mouth, soft and warm.

 

            There was an awkward cough from the doorway.

            “Errr, Padfoot? Prongs wants you. And, umm, Moony? Lily was looking for you. Something about photos?” Peter stared intently at his feet as he spoke. Perhaps, thought Remus mildly, we should have locked the door.

            “Right, thanks Pete,” Sirius stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, cock still hard and faced Peter as he dressed himself again, as though daring him to say something. He didn’t. Remus, without Sirius’ deadly bravado, blushed as he tidied himself up without getting out of the bath, but took the fag Sirius offered with a gracious smile. “I’ll see you downstairs shall I then, chaps?” Sirius announced when it became clear that Peter was rooted to the spot, and flounced past him with more flourish than was necessary. Remus attempted to smile apologetically at Peter, who refused to meet his eye.

            “Umm, sorry about that, Wormtail. Lily’s in the garden, is she?” Peter nodded, still staring at his feet and Remus sighed before brushing past him and following the tail of Sirius’ comet back downstairs to the party, leaving the detritus of their stolen moment behind to wither in Wormtail’s gaze. For a brief second he wondered what this discovery would lead to in the weeks and months to come, but as he joined the cluster of drunken wix gathered around the bottom of the stairs jumping to catch Lily’s bouquet, he caught Sirius looking at him from across the room, winked, and was rewarded with a smile so bright it melted away worries of the future.


End file.
